halcyonANDnevergone
by dandelion-heart
Summary: Yearning is for mortal lovers; they are soul-mates death cannot touch.
1. 30 I watch your back as you walk away

30=

=I watch your back as you walk away

* * *

He is the Devil with fire tumbling down his bony shoulders and sinewy arms. His horned helmet is chipped and blackened with ash and dust, red eyes like blood-coated burning coals peering through. He shrieks and his laugh is a garbled twisted scream of agony and pleasure and his claws lash out, slicing the air.

She takes a breath and inhales his scent, his aura, and she knows beneath the armor and rage and desperate urge to kill and conquer is the boy with the ragged robe and trembling grip. His voice is there too in the echo of the Devil's cry and her fingers twitch, wanting to hold him. Hollow and Whole, but she waits for him to join her, broken but human.

Save yourself, his sword sings as he dances like a demon but her legs are rooted to the ground and the earth shivers as she prays, light and music breaking through his waves of darkness and noise –

I'm staying here to save you.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE = Inspired by the 30_breathtakes themes on livejournal; please review if you enjoyed!


	2. 29 vibrant colors

29=

=vibrant colors

* * *

She had forgotten what yellow looked like. She wasn't sure what kind of blue made the sky look like a blanket ready to break free and tumble down. She tried to think of fresh green colored grass she remembered chewing on to look serious even though it was bitter and it cut her tongue. She couldn't recall how balloons squeaked when she rubbed her hands over them and she was no longer sure if the moon was really that vanilla round button in a dark navy sleeveless suit. The world was a lifetime's memory lost, she thought silently, and then bit her lip to remind her that she should be thinking of other things. A moment later, she wondered if she should tell someone that it would hurt her eyes to go back home.

But when she finally opened her eyes and felt something that sounded like futon and comforter and room with walls that opened to let her go, she turned to her right, hoping someone was there so she wouldn't have to remember this new life all alone. Her eyes grew wide. She saw her hair, loud and cheerful and reminding her it was time to wake up.

"How…?"

He looked up, lips parted, eyes sunken in, a gash crawling along his jaw. Yellow sunshine clung to his arms and blue sky stared at her through his irises and she could smell grass and balloons and the heaven earth skies moon life.

"Ichigo," she smiled and her eyes started hurting, tears budding on her lashes.


	3. 28 the view from here:vista

28=

=the view from here ; vista

* * *

Ichigo did not like the way her hair looked. Everyone seemed to think that he and she had cut their hair from the same spool but he crossed his arms and frowned, unsettled by the comparison. They aren't the same, he repeated silently to himself, a petulant grimace over his young face.

And so he came home, already upset after his first day, and Karin and Yuzu only shrugged at their father's raised brows and none of them bothered to ask anything. Ichigo suspected it was because he had started to lash out at the strangest remarks and at the vaguest mention of his name and so they recoiled readily beforehand.

He obsessed over it for the first week. How did they look even remotely the same? His hair was spiky and tousled and it was an orange straight from an unshaken spray-paint bottle. Hers was a bright blend of crimson and pineapple yellow and it annoyed him just to look at it. He had nothing against her face or her voice or her quirk of starting a conversation with an answer before ending it with the question. He just did not like her long tresses or the bangs or even the pins that brought up thick, copper wiry strands and he grumbled to himself when he saw the back of her head. That color was totally different from his, he assured himself.

He came back home Friday, kicking open the clinic door and when he walked into the living room, he looked up to see his mother's face on the wall with a smile as cheerful as her windswept hair.

Hair that was just like his and no one else's and he ignored what the other kids had to say because she pointed to her locks that bounced like Clementine peels and smelled like citrus tang and told him that if he liked her hair, he liked his own, too.

On Monday, he entered the classroom with a blank face, stared at Orihime Inoue who was paying attention to the beetle on her desk, noted her hair, and passed by without another word.

For some reason, he found that he didn't mind that color anymore.


	4. 27 first sunlight in the morning:sunrise

27=

=first sunlight in the morning ; sunrise

* * *

Did sunshine come with a soundtrack? Orihime decided that it should. The waves crashed over her when she snapped up the shade and it burned her eyes like sea spray and the sharp smell of hot and alive made her shiver happily. The music would be loud and full of beats that didn't make sense and she'd sing the lead and every track would be the same but no one would mind, she thought gleefully.

She stretched and waved at herself in the mirror, beams playing on angles and her fingers and over her clothes and hair. Everything was golden and she swam her way to school, battling heavy currents and thick nests of honey-colored spots amidst dappled shadows on the sidewalk.

"Morning!" She cheered as she stepped into class, grinning as wide as the rays spilled over the desks through wide glass screens. She glanced over at Ichigo who was gazing out the window with unfocused eyes.

"Kurosaki-kun, good morning!" Orihime tilted her head, eyes wide. He looked up in surprise, saw her delighted face, and nodded.

"Hey Inoue."

Yes, the morning sunshine came with a soundtrack. It was the singular sound of Ichigo speaking simple syllables and fully breaking open the morning glory.


	5. 26 clear blue skies

27=

=clear blue skies

* * *

Ichigo wasn't sentimental in any sense of the word. There was nothing left in his life to make his "heart melt" or get his "eyes watering from emotion." There was nothing that he witnessed that left him "overcome with the beauty of the scene" either. Ichigo just didn't do sentimental.

But nothing compared to a midday spring sky, an endless expanse of blue, a masterpiece by a creator who sat high above with a white paintbrush and idly splashed blank over color like an easily amused child. He'd lie down on grass and look up in a mirror of the sea and stare and stare until his eyes watered from keeping his eyes open for too long,

Nothing could compare to it. Ichigo wasn't sentimental but he expected anyone who understood the concept of cloud and wind and freedom could stand back, understand that the world was perfect in one way and appreciate the sky for what it was.

But he couldn't confirm that. He wasn't sentimental enough to say something profound, something out of the ordinary, something that wouldn't sound right flying from between his lips. And so he didn't. He kept it to himself and stood on the school roof and was thinking about drifting, unseen, over the heads of thousands of people when someone tapped him on the shoulder and asked him what he was doing.

Orihime didn't look at him when he whirled about. Her chin was tilted up, eyes fixed on the bluest sky of the year since the snow had melted. Ichigo opened his mouth and wondered what to say.

"You know, I didn't think anyone else came up here."

"I usually don't…"

"I noticed!" She grinned. "So thinking about something? Lost something?" She took a step forward so she was standing right beside him.

Ichigo inhaled deeply and silently.

"The sky just looks nice from here."

"I know right," Orihime whispered softly, staring up at him and he couldn't help but smile back.


	6. 25 singing voice

25=

=singing voice

* * *

Orihime smiled, holding in a giggle. It crackled through and stung her ear but she patiently waited and soon it came, a slow tumble of words, husky and controlled.

It started slow and gentle and rocking like the cradle, it soared up and swooped down. It rose, a butterfly with dainty wings on a gust of laughter, and then fell, the wind rushing past the bicycle as it slipped down the slope with the cries of pure happiness. Some words were syllables stretched and others were cut down into puzzle pieces scattered and falling into place. The rest was a melody strange and new and she closed her eyes, feeling it raise her hair and tingle within her fingertips. Then it ended and silence stirred a lazy finish and Orihime forced herself to sit up, watching him enter the room with his usual tired stagger.

He climbed into the bed and promptly closed his eyes before she turned, resting her chin on his chest.

"He's asleep," he whispered, voice now a light breeze easily chased away.

"Thank you," she murmured. She waited for a moment, then grinned. "Made sure the monitor was on?"

"Mhm."

"Good. I finally got to hear your lullaby today."


	7. 24 intoxicating

24=

=intoxicating

* * *

She kept it inside and locked it up with a small key that had its own lock to unbolt. She covered it up with a grand curtain and barricaded the doors and sealed every possible entrance until there was no way in. And then she turned around and realized she had no way out.

It mocked her, made her light-headed and she blushed madly, trying to remember to conceal it but this was resilient to all make-up and it rose up to color her cheeks and steal her breath away and heighten the sense of his skin on hers. She tried pushing it away, ignoring it, pretending as if it didn't dance before her, teasing how her heart fluttered and her hands trembled when her eyes found his.

He glanced over, golden and tall and his long, liquid light eyes blinked. He said her name, and she shivered, trying to forget about it as he reached for her hand, his embarrassment muted, if at all existent.

There was no way out for her, the senses laughed and colors burned and his light poured over her sight like rain thirsty for earth. Everything burst out from its hiding place and order washed away at the mere touch and smell of him, a beautiful boy who looked away without understanding. It was pure luck he could not see it, what tempted her to blurt out her obvious secret.

And it was only her luck that she managed to hold on, never truly recovering from such a dizzying high.


	8. 23 asleep on the couch

23=

=asleep on the couch

* * *

He never knew that her eyelids were colored a rosy violet and that her lashes were thick and curled and painted like the inside of a steady flame. He saw now that she furrowed her brows and even smiled, cheeks twitching occasionally. He had never noticed how pale her face was, how smooth the skin and how pink the lips were. He never caught how when she slept, her mouth was slightly open and her hair was strewn over her temples and forehead as if they were slender blades of grass dyed in copper-orange wash.

Someone coughed and he looked up, startled, the light from the television screen in the darkened room flickering over the silent seated figures around him. He stared down after a moment, breathing rushed as he watched the girl leaning against him, light and soft and smelling of cherry blossoms and tulips after rain. He slipped down an inch into his seat so that she leaned more comfortably in and stayed still, not wanting to wake her.


	9. 22 flushed cheeks

22=

=flushed cheeks

* * *

He pretended he couldn't see them. He would glance away when he noticed her fingers curled into the safety of her palm and wait before her soft voice chased away the waiting silence, eager to flit away. Sometimes he would forget and come as close as he could without touching her to help put away the dishes, reach for a book, open the door, small mundane butterflies of routine that fluttered about their heads like weights ready to drop and sink away. She would gasp and draw away ever so slightly before he caught himself and stepped back, blurting out a fragmented sorry.

He couldn't help himself. She'd excuse herself and his heart would leap up in his place, trying to follow her out, hungry for assurance, thirsty for reassurance, just wanting to make sure she was alright. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but more that he couldn't trust anything else and it threatened to break down on them and pull her away. He would remind himself not to stare so much when the look came over her face again, that she 'd caught him, and he'd build more excuses around himself, a raft he wish she would step onto so he could make sure nothing would drown her away from him.

He'd come in the morning and leaving in the evening and both times of day started to smell the same, and he knew noon and afternoon only by the color of her walls and the feel of her floor under his thinning socks. He pretended he couldn't see the look drawing itself over her mouth and eyes. Some days she'd forget to call it to her and so they stood a little too easily by each other, smiling a little too sweetly, passing away time a little too quickly.

And then it would interrupt and settle deep in so that every time their fingers brushed, her breath would hush away and he'd warn himself not to look quite yet, just to wait until both of them were prepared, prepared to hold themselves back.


	10. 21 scent:musk:perfume:cologne

21=

=scent ; musk ; perfume ; cologne

There were some nights in the winter when, right before the sun rose, there was an uncomfortable stillness because she was breathing all the last of yesterday's stale air and everything new and fresh was going to rush in and overwhelm her. It would choke her because it would be so powerful and the strength would be from the unknown where wells upon wells of stars poured out thick gas clouds that thinned into oxygen and the particles would gleam as they sped towards earth, bouncing off the new sun.

At least, that's what she told him, the boy awake beside her, as they stared out to black seas rolling over them, moving away from the distant shore from where a fiery star would lift up and stream over the earth. She regretted it as soon as she had finished but he spared her a smile, a smile that painted his eyes a color she never knew before and she named it after him, in silence.

They sat for a little longer and then all of the air twisted and changed and she turned to watch him and his face was wrinkled in concentration and her heart melted from a warmth the sun couldn't even give as they sat on muddy grass, water seeping in through their jeans, breathless still though they had stopped running minutes ago. And all the air sank into them and she felt it again, the urge to name it after the boy beside her, the wind with a sharp smell that drove into her senses and left her blinded. He caught her eye and grinned because he felt it as well, and her heart burst.

It was the first time they had talked since she had left his father's clinic with lungs ripped from screaming out a protest to the god of death over and over. He had insisted on walking with her when he saw her on the corner and by the time they had walked to the field, she didn't remember why she had resisted and took note of the strange pull around him. All the air she drank in filled all the holes quietly, seamlessly and the smell of a new sun and day whispering over the edge clung to the boy sitting next to her.

Both of them sat there and stayed there until there was enough light to stop squinting through shadow and then he got up, waved goodbye and as he brushed past her the scent of each day's beginning followed him away. She watched him leave and turned, her heart pulsing a little stronger as she realized she could close her eyes and tell that he paused at the gate to glance over his shoulder and see her still there.


	11. 20 jewelry

20=

=jewelry

He explained, voice strained, that he hadn't invested much thought into it, he swore it wasn't anything special but Rukia just nodded and sat on the window ledge with a small smile hovering over her thin lips. Chad had stared down at the box before nodding solemnly in approval and Ishida simply pursed his lips and appraised the twinkling lights captured in the cushion with interested eyes.

He had merely passed by the shop once or twice and chanced to see a familiar gleam of orange through the window, and when he paused to peer surreptitiously in, he saw her standing by a mirror, dangling the earrings by her cheeks. Then he remembered her birthday was coming up and in the midst of remembering when exactly it fell, only just in time realized she was exiting. He sprinted to the street corner and waited until she had walked away, bouncing as she stepped on the crisp leaves scattered over the sidewalk. He watched to make sure she wouldn't turn back and feeling slightly foolish, set his jaw and strode into the store, glaring at the shopkeeper's baffled stare when he walked towards the earring stand.

But he didn't buy them that day, nor the next, nor the following week, until finally he overheard her pleading with Tatsuki not to overdo it and her birthday slapped him on the back of his head so that he made his way, slowly, not deliberately, just out of idle interest, back to the shop where the clerk knew better than to stare this time, and he frowned down at the earring stand. He knew nothing of gift purchases and after a minute feared he was spending too long and so snatched up a bright violet pair. He went to the counter but when he set them down, he realized it would never match her hair and so he went back and took a black dangly pair. He put that one back immediately and stood there, awkward and fretting until he sensed the keeper was getting ready to approach him and he suddenly saw the pair she had been holding and snatched up the gleaming white pearls and handed them to the clerk with a scowl.

"She'll like them though right?" He ventured, a bit nervous, seeing her walk through the classroom door.

"Ask her yourself, idiot," Rukia grinned and pushed him forward.


	12. 19 soft lips

19=

=soft lips

* * *

There were many things missing now. The routine, the sword, the feel of wind streaming through gritted teeth, swirling down his windpipe, all of the wind pulling at him with small fingers that brought him crashing down to gravity's happy embrace. In the end, it was the same as the end of a battle and he had toppled down to earth, down to the mundane where he'd wait the next arrival, the next flight to up and over, a beyond that smelled and tasted like freedom…like peace.

But all of that was missing now and he was telling himself, busily reminding himself, that peace was here, in the mundane-ness of counting steps on the sidewalk blocks, passing rows of potted plants, noticing the dog that slept under the tarp only a few feet away from the school gate. It was watching raindrops race down windowpanes, the hum of car engines impatiently waiting for passengers to lock the front door, the sighs in a room with an empty closet filled with only clothes.

There was something odd, an overlay of everything mundane and truly peaceful over something fighting like the wind to surface, to reign over his small speck on the ground so down below. Like a link between the two was missing as well, the reason why he couldn't sleep, couldn't even daydream. Something that he had been holding on to so tightly as he soared and screamed to victory he forgot he was holding it, and now it was suddenly wrenched away and he was finding it hard to swallow down anything at all.

He stood before her grave and asked her in his gruff mind voice, as childishly surly as his speaking voice, not pleading, not begging, wondering with an innocence he allowed himself to remember when he stood before her. What had he forgotten, what had he promised, what was what, like up was impossible and down seemed to be forever.

And then he heard footsteps and he turned and she was there, respectfully some distance away, all quiet and no laugh, fading, torn between two places he wasn't sure how to bring back together. He didn't look back to the grave, the stone was telling him to keep looking and so he stared at her until she turned red and muttered a question he ignored. He finally said hello, she smiled and something like wind and fingers that wished him the best and a memory of suns and how he lived to orbit around them pushed him forward towards her bright, bright face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be weird like that-"

"It's alright! I just…I just thought maybe you'd like some company."


	13. 18 in the rain

18=

=in the rain

* * *

She never told anyone of course, partly because she herself didn't remember them. How exactly they entered, even though she locked and unlocked her front and bedroom door four times before going to sleep just to make sure they still worked perfectly and absolutely fine. How they slipped in through windows, even though she had taken to sewing the curtains closed and leaving them hanging over the glass no matter how cloudy or gloriously golden the day was. The locks were hammered closed so she couldn't open them for a breath of fresh air unless she paid someone to help but no one could help her, fee or no fee.

She knew why they came though. How could she not, even though they were her little secrets, little goblins muttering to themselves as they picked their way through the dark and unlocked her doors and opened up her windows and padded their way softly through shadow to crawl under her covers and then-

She felt hands peel back her shirt and wind through her hair, ghosting over her skin and forcing her to open her eyes and see them. Harpies screeching as they tore at her and their claws hovered close to her eyeballs and then there was the man who did something that a part of her said, shh not yet don't look yet, so she couldn't quite remember why he left her on the floor feeling horribly empty and raw. And then there were fingers in her mouth making her choke and someone pulled her aside and made her bleed and spit silent please don'ts over her white white dress.

She didn't tell anyone of course, because it was all in her head and she was used to having other people's thoughts and voices and memories and regrets and hands in there. It was not her mind, it was not her attic, it was a landmine for everyone and her head grew heavier and heavier.

So she didn't tell anyone and she walked outside instead, not sleeping but sleepwalking, drifting along like a phantom. If it rained or was humid that night, something would come back and she would smile and think of herself as a shadow puppet behind a veil for children to gape at.

But she walked on alone and lonely for the most part, feeling her way down, not seeing. She did not tell anyone and no one ever asked because it was the rule, assume sanity was in place or the trigger would be pressed. She walked with her head down, not seeing him watch a short distance away, walking with her, shadow of a shadow, making sure she went back home before he did the same.

He never told anyone of course, never told her. She never said anything of it. He never confessed. So they both walked together and told themselves the other was happy.


	14. 17 sweet nothings:soft whispering

17=

=sweet nothings ; soft whispering

* * *

He, once or twice, had admitted to himself, but no one else of course, that he was, just a little more than the average person, not too extreme but upon close inspection somewhat noticeable – a paranoid guy.

He nevertheless squashed the idea every time it would stealthily flare up, like hitting a gopher on the head in one of those old arcade rooms. Then he would promptly distract himself by scowling at another source of irritation. But this time, the only source of irritation was the prickle in the back of his neck and the tension of his jaw grinding faster and faster every second he heard another muffled giggle from behind.

He would have turned around and yelled at them to stop half an hour ago right after it started, but that would be rude, considering that Karin and Yuzu and _she_ were in the group too, and he wouldn't want to make a mistake when they accused him of thinking he was the target of conversation interest and then he was left with nothing to say.

So they whispered and chuckled and their voices crawled up his back and tugged at his ears and nibbled on his shoulders like little pets eager for attention but much more satisfied with annoying him to the point of outburst.

"Wanna tell me what's so funny?" Ichigo growled, doing his best not to squint over a shoulder. Paranoid though he might be, just a tiny bit, he was a man of his word and his promise to not look no matter what had not failed.

"We-"

"Shh, don't tell!"

"But it's-"

"No no, you can't spoil it-"

"It's not like I think it's about me, but it's getting annoying you know. And you're in my room so I should know what you're up to!"

There was a pause and the absence of flighty laughter and muted sultry commentary echoed for a few moments.

"Go on, you tell him!"

"But but I-"

"Say it quick!"

"Kurosaki-kun, don't get mad-"

"Oh he will-"

"But you looked really really cute-"

He whirled around, mouth open. Orihime held up the book in her hands.

"-as a baby," she blushed.


	15. 16 pretty in pink

16=

=pretty in pink

* * *

But for all their giggles and all their whispers of could he get any weirder and the murmurs on the bus of why did he say that, it had been worth it. Of course, he didn't believe that, but his mother had said so, one hand on his head, the other holding the card, her eyes a little brighter but he knew she wasn't going to cry.

You are lovely, she told him with a confident smile and she set the card down but then his father burst in asking about the girl and he couldn't help it and he started to cry.

This is lovely, the teacher had said but _she_ didn't think so and he never bothered showing the teacher any of it again, despite all her suggestions and her coddling and her whispered talks to his mother after school.

Kurosaki-kun!

He didn't try mentioning any of it later, didn't try writing any of it for his high school literature class, ignored scrawling comments on the papers mentioning magazines that offered good money for submissions –

Kurosaki-kun!

What is that? _she_ asked and then _they_ asked and his breath started to catch and his voice broke when he said

It's just some poetry.

What?

Nothing.

Kurosaki-kun, you don't need to be upset! I won't ask you about it, I just wanted to -

I know. I'm sorry.

It's ok, it's just...um well what were you writing?

…A p- it was a- you know a sonnet?

Oh wow, you mean like Petrarch? Or like Shakespeare!

_Her_ eyes hadn't lit up, _her_ face was red because he was still standing in front of _her_, _her_ hands were twisting behind _her_ back and he understood he made a mistake even though his heart had been hoping

Would you like to read it?

Oh I'd love to! Wait no, sorry, I won't if you're giving it to someone!

I'm not.

Then –

and she smiled and he felt a small itch in his chest like he knew that smile because it was what he thought _it_ would be like and if it just stayed a little longer...but she had turned away with the paper in hand –

Then of course I'll read it!

_She_ hadn't liked it. He thought the mistake had been his.


End file.
